


feel like a dead blue sea

by seroquel (smallredboy)



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Abuse of Authority, Date Rape Drug/Roofies, Hannibal (TV) Season/Series 01, M/M, Non-Graphic Rape/Non-Con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-11
Updated: 2020-01-11
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:14:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22214638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smallredboy/pseuds/seroquel
Summary: Hannibal gives Will some new medication to try out. Its side effects are... purposeful.
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 7
Kudos: 91





	feel like a dead blue sea

**Author's Note:**

> i experimented w my style here a little and also like, wrote a rape scene that takes up all of the fic while still not being graphic. good job me! 
> 
> please don't call this hot/sexy/what-have-you, this is mostly written to cope(tm) and i'd prefer to Not be told that rape is sexy.
> 
> enjoy? i suppose?

"You're safe with me, Will," Hannibal told him, settled in front of him, looking at him, looking through him. He was feverish, he was hot all over, he was sweating and he didn't know what to do.

"Yes," he agreed, unsure what else to say.

"Repeat our exercise."

"It's 8:31 p.m., I'm in Baltimore, Maryland, and my name is Will Graham."

Hannibal smiled at him. "Good. I have some medication I'd like for you to try."

"Okay," he agreed.

He had been stupid. He had been  _ so _ stupid. He hadn't asked what was the medication, what were the side effects. If he had, he would've saved himself. Or maybe Hannibal would've lied so well that he would've still fallen for it. But he took the medication.

(It was not medication.  _ Roofies, _ Hannibal told him cheerily the morning after. It was like he knew he wouldn't have the heart to tell anyone, to tell everyone that Dr. Hannibal Lecter had drugged him up and raped him. So Hannibal was forthcoming about it.)

He felt hazy, frail at the edges. Like fine china, like what Hannibal said Jack thought of him as what felt like decades ago.

"I-I feel weird," he told Hannibal, eyes staring up at him, searching for him.

"The side effects are immediate," he reassured him. "I should get you to the guest's bedroom so you can sleep it off."

He got up with shaky limbs, feeling unreal, like he was watching himself from a camera. He was two steps ahead of where he thought he was. Before he really realized, he was stripping down and getting into the bed. It was warm. It was comfortable. It was safe.

He relaxed, sighed, stared at the wall. Hannibal was still looking at him by the door, like waiting for him to fall asleep as he observed him. It was odd, but he didn't want to call it out. He was already sleeping in Hannibal's guest room, which was a grave offense as it was. He shouldn't bother him any more with any personal ticks or bothers. It was fine as it was.

He thought he fell asleep. But he woke up, or he became conscious, when he felt Hannibal's hands on him.

"Dr. Lecter?" he asked, voice thick with sleep, still fogged up like a car window, moist after the rain.

"I'm just checking your temperature, Will, don't worry," he said. He sounded even, calm. But it didn't make much sense— he wasn't checking through any of the usual means. No thermometer in his mouth, or at his armpit, or Hell, even touching his forehead with his hand. He yelped weakly when he felt it. "Relax, Will."

"Hannibal," he breathed. "What's— what are you doing?"

"Relax, WIll," he repeated. His voice didn't change. Like this was all a normal procedure for him.

"Please," he choked out. He didn't like the feeling, his heart jumping up, rate going up and up as he felt it, again, and then once more. "Please, Hannibal, get off me. Don't…"

He was so weak, but he still tried. He still tried to get Hannibal off him. Before he even had a real fighting chance (not that he ever had one to begin with), Hannibal wrapped his hand around his throat, pressed right against his windpipe. That's when he realized he could (and would) kill him if he didn't let him do this to him.

"It will be over soon, Will. You should go back to sleep."

The feeling went away, but it was replaced with something much worse.

He yelped, louder, grabbing at the pillow.

"Please," he begged. He felt like he was going to throw up. He was still fogged up and hazy and broken at the edges, and he knew right then and there that it was just how Hannibal wanted him. Fogged up and broken and being broken some more.

"You're doing great, Will," Hannibal soothed.

He still sounded the fucking same. His voice didn't change,  _ nothing _ changed except what he was doing with him. And oh god, what he was doing with him would haunt him. It would haunt him even worse than Garrett Jacob Hobbs did. He knew that very well, right at that second, as Hannibal slowly started to move.

"Hannibal, please," he said.

Hannibal did it with a precision that, in retrospective, makes him think that he had done it many, many times before. Not being the sole victim of the psychiatrist makes his insides twist.

"I would appreciate you being quieter," he said. "Perhaps I should have given you more than one capsule of that medication."

He whimpered. Hannibal pressed against his windpipe a little harder, made it harder to breathe. He went quiet.

He was pliant. He was easy. He let him in.

When Hannibal was finished, he pulled off him, and it dripped.

"I'll help clean up," he had said. As if nothing had happened. As if he hadn't dirtied him inside out. He came with a towel, and he did help clean up. He helped him straighten up, he squeezed his shoulder comfortingly.

"Good job, Will," he said, smiling ever so subtly.

"Are you—" He swallowed. He stared at Hannibal, at how his demeanor didn't change, how he looked like the same man he had known for months. There was no glint in his eyes, nothing, no crazy change that told him yes, this is a different man than the one you've been friends and colleagues with. He had been friends with a monster until the monster decided to get him. "Are we— are you going to do this again?"

Hannibal reached for his nightstand and took a sip from a glass of wine he wasn't aware was there. "If I don't need to drug you for you to not fight back, maybe."

He stared off into the distance. "Okay," he said, quietly, defeated and broken at more than at the edges.

Hannibal turned the light off the guest room. He listened to his footsteps as they became quieter and quieter, until they weren't there anymore.


End file.
